


The Beginning of Knowledge

by rei_c



Series: Knowledge 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Magic, POV Outsider, Rituals, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-28
Updated: 2008-12-28
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: In the beginning, there is a man lost to desperation and a woman who misses her home and family. Or maybe that's the other way 'round.





	The Beginning of Knowledge

Marie's working the outside tables, as she does most days. Like the others, she was born in Louisiana, but the others came into the world through hospitals in towns, cities. Marie's different, though. Her mother gave birth to her in the back sunroom of their house, perched on a small piece of land between Lake Laurier and Bayou Moreau. Born in late July, on the cusp of noon, Marie has always loved sunshine and heat. California isn't humid enough but it's plenty sunny, even downtown in San Francisco's small French Quarter. 

She finds it impossible to stay inside for hours at a stretch like the others and they indulge her, let her work the sidewalk without complaint to the loa who sent her up here. Marie wouldn't have left the bayou if she hadn't been told; something about skyscrapers and cement sets her teeth on edge. She'd rather have kudzu and Spanish moss, 'gators and snakes, the familiar bayous of her childhood and lakes of her teenage years. 

The café could be worse, though. Sometimes it's like having a piece of her family here with her; food and friends go a long way toward making a girl feel as if she's back home. The work was strange at first but she's gotten used to it, moved the keening loss of home to a place deep in her heart, resigned herself to the crush of people during rush hour and the polite frost of the west coast, so different from her own southern roots. Still, the loa promised that they were sending her here for a reason. Cleaning up after a set of tourists -- big smiles, small tip -- Marie hopes that reason meets up with her soon. 

\--

She's working when he comes up the sidewalk, towel thrown over her shoulder, hair struggling to escape the tight braid, seam of her socks rubbing the wrong way against her toes. He's hunched over but must be tall; even slouching, hands in his pockets, hair over his eyes, he's taller than the twins. 

He's not watching where he's going or what he's doing, that much is clear. Before he walks into a chair, Marie clears her throat and he almost misses a step as he looks up. Marie catches her breath before she can gasp in instant kinship; his eyes are caught halfway between desperation and homesickness, dash of hope thrown in for good measure and something else, something deeper, that calls out to her. Marie feels her heart skip lightly when his lips crook up in a smile, made all the more potent by how tired he looks, the pale sheen of anxious sweat lurking beneath his tan. 

He glances around, seems like he's checking for something though what, exactly, Marie doesn't know. She doesn't know if he finds it or not but he sits down, leans forward in his chair and plants his elbows on the table, heels of his palms digging into his eyes. 

Marie steps forward, licks her lips, smiles, and asks, "I get you somethin', sugar? Look like you could use a good dose o' food." 

He jumps, just a little, wound too tight and showing it off for anyone to see. "Um," he says. "Just a. Just a coffee. Thanks." 

\--

She brings him out a café au lait and watches from the doorway as he lifts the mug, inhales the scent before sipping. He doesn't blanch at the heat, doesn't wince at the taste of chicory. In fact, his shoulders seem to relax a little; he slumps back in his chair and closes his eyes as he takes another sip of coffee.

The door opens behind her and Marie doesn't bother turning to look over her shoulder. Pierre is impossible to mistake; the air around him is charged with the tang of hoodoo, the scent of humid air and the vague taste of dirt. He stands behind Marie, leans against her and wraps his arms around her waist. 

"What you lookin' at?" he asks, quiet even with the purr in his voice. 

Marie nods at the guy sipping café au lait. "Somethin' 'bout that one," she murmurs. "Strike me funny. Not bad, just," she adds, trailing off. There isn't a way to describe the way this guy is making her feel, not without resorting to the language of the loa or the back bayou.

Pierre doesn't say anything but Marie can tell he's thinking. They're both quiet, watching the guy, and they both see when he finishes the coffee and looks down, notices the vévé at the bottom of the mug and flinches. 

"I'll take care of it," Pierre murmurs, brushing past Marie. She doesn't move, content to watch as Pierre approaches the guy, as he sits down across the table and starts to talk. When the guy's eyes flick up to her, then back to Pierre, Marie smiles and goes inside to tell Théo that they'll need to have enough food for an extra body tonight. 

\--

Sam. His name is Sam. He comes to the gathering that night and won't tell them his last name or anything about his family, just that he's been having dreams and something told him to come down to the French Quarter.

With a half-filled mug of chicory coffee cradled between his palms, he says, "I don't really know why I'm here." He looks uncomfortable, skin stretched too tight, heart and soul and mind out of place, moving too much, hollow and empty like the circles under his eyes. Marie feels herself wanting to reach out and comfort him but Théo and Sophie begin the ritual before she can bring herself to move. Sam sits to the side and watches but when the loa come, they claim Sam, putting their marks on him, one after the other, no vévés drawn, nothing to protect him, nothing to help him. 

Marie feels her stomach clench with want and a warm breeze, smelling of the Gulf, plays with her hair as Marinette mounts Sam. His face is wide open, slack with something approaching wonder, and the loa digs in hard, rides smooth, as she lifts a hand and strokes Marie's cheek. 

"This is why you're here, little horse," Marinette whispers. "This is why I sent you here, me and my sister." Marinette leans forward, presses her lips against Marie's and uses her teeth to spill Marie's blood between the two of them. 

Marie growls, bites back, fighting. Her nails dig into Marinette's arms and it takes Théo and Jacques both to tear the two of them apart. 

Marinette pulls free of Jacques long enough to lean forward and whisper into Marie's ear. "I have plans for this one, Marie Madoult. Whatever you do, little horse, sink into him and _do not let him go_." 

Jacques pulls Marinette back. The loa has one eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer. Marie grins, red staining her teeth, and Marinette's laugh spirals out and over everyone in the room. 

Sam's eyes, as Marinette leaves, meet Marie's without blinking. She stares. His eyes have changed. Something is stirring in them, something down deep, something large and full of power. 

Marie shivers, trapped between desire and fear.


End file.
